


a pet sematary inside of your heart.

by moralorelfan



Category: Moral Orel
Genre: F/M, Suggested child abuse, some blood, suggested sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3571922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moralorelfan/pseuds/moralorelfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Orel, do you love me?"// Christina fears the backseat of the station wagon, but not as much as the girl in the mirror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a pet sematary inside of your heart.

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title: "christina posabule did nothing to deserve this". took a few minor liberties with headcanon here because we don't get full exposure to christina's character in the show. orel and christina are sixteen-ish in this story. and very sad.

Her nose had finally stopped bleeding.

  
A grimy-red ghost of blood still haunted her chin; rusty streaks underscored underscored either nostril. In spite of her best intentions, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the rearview mirror and was appropriately horrified by the gore. Her eyes were swollen like sandbags and cracked with lightning forks of red. The sandy-brown curls she had fussed over

  
_vanity is a SIN lookit up get it through your skull for christ's sakes_

  
earlier that evening were starting to glint with oil. The only source of color on her baptism-white face was the bloody beard and even that was fading to a earthy, queasy brown.

Orel, for what had to be the millionth time: "I'm so sorry, Christina."

  
And he was. When she had first felt the lung-twisting buckle of hysterics and cracked her nose on the paneling in her haste to untangle herself from him, he had immediately given her space. He spoke only to apologize and offer her some tissues stored in the console. After squeezing every tear from her kitchen sponge eyes, she had noticed dampness glistening on his own cheeks. His guilt turned her stomach.

  
"It's okay," she whispered, hesitantly unclamping her pinched fingers from her nostrils. She inhaled and winced at the harsh slice of cold air against her tender skin. Maybe it would be okay, after all.

  
"No… I-I don't know what I was doing, I was being…" He groped for a word despicable enough to encompass his misdeed. "I was being ungodly."

  
"Orel…" Christina reached across the abyss separating the driver's and passenger seats, and recovered his hand. "You weren't being ungodly. I-I was the one who wanted to kiss you."

  
"Oh. W-Well, I moved to fast, didn't I? I didn't think about you, I-I was being selfish like my—"

  
Though unspoken, the word _dad_ thundered through the station wagon. Christina shifted uncomfortably in her seat, then crossed her legs. The blackness of the night pressed in on the windows like deep space; she felt as if they were last people on earth.

  
"Really, Orel." Her voice warbled.

  
He met her eyes and detected the film of tears plastic-wrapping them. Their presence sent a shudder of self-disgust rippling up his chest. "Gosh, I'm so sorry, Christina. I can't believe I hurt you… I—you didn't deserve any of this. Do you want to hurt me? I sure deserve it."

  
"No. I want you to hold me," she said, leaning forward and extending her arms to him. He caught her mid-way, pressing her inflamed face to his detergent-soft shirtfront. She laced her arms around his middle and whimpered with relief when his hands began to travel down the arc of her back in soothing circles. This wasn't a cage. This wasn't a trap. These arms loved her and embraced her out of passion and affection, not unquenchable lust.

  
"I'm sorry," he said again. "I'll never do that again, Christina. Never in a million years."

  
"Orel, do you love me?" A note of urgency barbed her tone.

  
There was a brief silence, then a soft noise of incredulity. "Of course I do. Almost as much as Jesus."

 

Christina gathered the meat of her lower lip in her teeth. "And… and you'd never touch me if I said 'no' first?"

  
"Of course not—oh."

  
Her inner-thighs itched furtively.

  
"Christina… does your dad…?" She heard him swallow forcefully. It wasn't a pleasant thought by any means.

  
"He likes to be in charge," she said. The waver in her voice had hitched a ride down to her heart, which galloped along at a frenetic tattoo. "He likes controlling things. He likes… he likes me."

 

Orel was beyond speech. He could scarcely choke back the bilious upsurge of horror and disgust. For a moment, he came perilously close to sending the question that had been gathering dust on the desktop of his mind.

  
_why'd you have to do that god?_

  
He had almost asked it during that unending night when all he could hear was the fire alarm of pain in his head and the distant cries of mockingbirds.

  
He was compelled to ask it again.

  
"I'm sorry, Christina." He was sorry for a different reason now.

  
She turned her face up to his, expression shadowed with something so foreign and dark that it frightened Orel to see it on her lovely, iridescent visage. "I'm not Mary," she said quietly. "You're Joseph, b-but I'm not Mary. I'm not Mary…"

  
"Shh…" His hand, however shaky, resituated itself between her shoulder blades and began to rub. "You don't have to be. You're still pure, Christina. You're perfect. You don't have to be Mary, you just have to be you."

  
A watery sob burst out of her. Judging from its intensity, it had been buried deep for quite some time now. It ached like a fresh wound, but she had never felt so forgiven. No amount of praying had ever cleaned the bed sheets or halted the summons to the study or assuaged the itch that forced her into only the most modest of skirts. But without the burden of playing Mary, she felt a little cleaner, a little brighter. A little easier to love.

  
"We'll be different," Orel said in the darkness of the station wagon. "I promise, Christina. We won't be like them."

  
"I know." She swiped away the last of the blood and smiled weakly. "I know."


End file.
